59

Corey
Oh shit. What in the hell made me overshare like this?
Stefano stares at me, his dark, curling lashes thick and beautiful against the backdrop of such a masculine face. I can’t read him, but his attention makes me shift in my seat, change the crossing of my legs.
A nurse comes out and calls for Trisha. We all stand up and watch as Trisha rushes over. When she returns, she says, “They said he came out of surgery and is stable. He probably won’t wake up tonight, so she said I should go home to rest and come back tomorrow.” Her lip trembles.
Stefano reaches in his pocket and produces a business card. “My cell number’s on there. Keep me posted, all right?”
She bobs her head, eyes filling with tears. “Yeah, okay. I will. Thanks so much.”
He touches her shoulder. “The Bellissimo will take care of all the medical expenses and missed pay. All Joey needs to worry about is recovering.”
Trisha surges forward and gives him a tight hug around his waist.
Stefano one-arm hugs her back. As we walk away, he interlaces his fingers with mine. My breath stalls a moment. After all the things he’s done to me-we’ve done together-it’s odd that holding my hand is the gesture that feels most intimate, but it does.
It’s tender. Sweet.
Things I don’t associate with Stefano Tacone, royalty to the Vegas underworld.
I can’t even imagine why he’d do it, and yet it also feels perfect. Exhilarating, even.
On the ride back, he calls into the casino for a report and lets them know the status of Joey.
I arrive back at the Bellissimo a changed woman. It’s like I’m seeing things for the first time as I glide in with Stefano’s hand on my lower back. Seeing them from his perspective, realizing how much he has to worry about with Nico gone.
And yet he doesn’t ditch me straightaway, as I expected. I wasn’t even going to complain. No, he asks me which restaurant in the casino is my favorite.
“Caffe Milano,” I tell him, indicating the eatery modeled after a Italian sidewalk cafe. It has cute little tables nestled together and sprawling outside the restaurant in a lush patio. “They have the best Caprese salad.”
His lips twitch and he leads me there, requesting the table out on the “sidewalk”-which really just means outside the pseudo-enclosure, with a view of the casino hustle and bustle.
“Is this so you can keep an eye on things?” I ask as he holds my chair for me.
“Yes. You keep an eye out, too.”
I love that he recruits me like this, the way he did last night on the floor before the ill-fated game. He thinks I might have something to contribute to his efforts. It makes me want to please him, which is probably dangerous territory. I don’t need to be working hard to impress a guy. I did that way too long with my dad. But maybe I purposely chose a loser like Dean because I didn’t want to have to impress a guy.
“Tell me about the categories you put gamblers in.” Stefano shifts his gaze from the passersby to me.
I curse the flush that hits my cheeks. Why did I ever tell him so much?
“Come on, don’t be shy.” He pours more wine in my glass. “I want to hear what you’ve learned. It could be useful for me working security.”
I tilt my head to the side. “Yeah, it probably could. It’s how I knew something was off with you that first night.”
His sensual lips spread into a slow grin. He leans forward, eyes glittering with intensity. “Tell me.”
I’d like to say I’m immune to having my every word hung onto by a sexy, powerful man, but it does something crazy to my insides. My nipples harden, but it’s beyond sexual. It’s more like energy swirling around me, whispering dangerous things in my ear. Things I want to believe.
I take a sip of wine. His attention remains riveted on me. “There’s three kinds of big gamblers,” I tell him. “The cerebral, the wild and crazy and the energetic, for lack of a better term.” I go on to explain each one and he hangs onto my every word.
“And so if someone’s spending big and he or she isn’t one of these three, you know something’s off.”
I nod. “Right. And I should’ve known last night because Donahue didn’t fit, either. I had a lot of signs things were off with him, but I didn’t put it together fast enough.”
Stefano covers my hand with his. “I’m sorry you had to see that. I really am.”
I don’t want to contemplate what it means that he didn’t say he was sorry it happened, or sorry a guy’s dead or any of that. I mean, I would’ve done the same thing in his shoes. The guy was going to kill him. But he’s taken it all pretty coolly.
His comms unit buzzes and he listens and speaks into it. Then he looks at our empty plates. “I need to get out on the floor. You want to come with me? Be my shadow for the night?”
It’s a Stockholm Syndrome sign that I get excited by his offer, as if he’s taking me out on the town for a fancy date, rather than letting me out of his room. Still, I nod eagerly, because it’s what I want.
“Let me see you in one of those dresses they brought up to my room, then.” He stands up and leads me to the elevator.
I ignore the fact that there’s a little thrill at the idea of dressing for him, providing the visual stimulation he was looking for when he asked me to work the private games.
“So are you going to let me back on the floor, or am I still your private game dealer?” I ask in the elevator. What I’m really asking is-will my imprisonment ever end? Will I still have a job? When can we get back on familiar ground so I can recover from this insane ride?
He considers me. “I’m not sure, amore. What’s your preference?”
“Back on the floor,” I say without hesitation.
He nods. “Where you can observe the masses?”
“Exactly.”
He shrugs his shoulders. “I think you’re meant for more, bella. Your skill set goes way beyond flipping cards and counting chips, although you’re damn good at it.”
And just like that he upsets my cart-the stroke of my ego making me almost miss the fact that he’s refusing my choice again.
His cell phone rings and something akin to relief flickers over his face. “Nico,” he answers, “What the fuck?”
I hear Nico say something about his phone being dead.
“How’d it go?” Stefano asks in a low, serious tone.
We’re in the suite now, but I don’t move, wanting to hear. Stefano slaps my ass and lifts a chin at the rack of clothing. I scowl at him, but move away. For all I know, they’re discussing something illegal. Lord knows I don’t need to be implicated in any more crimes.
The clothes Stefano had sent up must cost a fortune. They’re from one of the casino’s luxury shops-a place for high-rollers to spend their winnings. It’s all high-fashion couture, brand names and they make me look like a million bucks. Too bad I don’t get to keep them.
As I change into one of the red dresses-a close-fitting dress with a strip of fabric around the neck, but a cutout across my chest to show off my cleavage-I hear Stefano curse in Italian. “And Sondra? She okay?”
I stand in the doorway to listen and Stefano doesn’t shoo me away.
“Thank fuck,” he says, which I take to mean that Sondra’s okay. Does Stefano’s relief indicate she almost wasn’t? He listens for another minute, then says, “All right, I’ll see you tomorrow. Looking forward to meeting my future sister-in-law.” He winks at me, but the line between his brows make his expression appear serious. He ends the call and walks over to me, touching my waist. “It fits. Christ, you’re beautiful.” He brushes my hair back from my shoulder and bites my neck.
“Yeah, this one will do as my replacement dress.”
“Keep all of them.” He waves his hand dismissively. I’m not sure if he realizes that rack probably encompasses over 10K in clothing. “Nobody should wear a red dress but you. You’re a fucking knock-out in red.”
I snort. “Don’t you know redheads aren’t supposed to wear red?” I’m already calculating how much I can make selling them on Ebay.
“Oh, I know. But you’re no ordinary redhead.” He emphasizes the word ordinary like he really heard me earlier, really gets what I meant. And I realize I’ll never sell a single one.
“What happened with Nico and Sondra?” I demand.
Stefano shakes his head. “Just some shit Nico had to work out.”
“About getting out of his marriage contract?”
Stefano arches a brow. “You know about that?”
I put my hands on my hips. “I told you I’m practically family.”
He grins. “So you are.” He rubs his shadowed jaw. “Nico fixed it. Our brother made him sweat it, though. They scared the hell out of your cousin, but she’s fine. I would apologize, but if I took responsibility for the nasty things my family does, I’d never stop.”
My heart squeezes a little for Stefano. Like me, he can’t help who his father is. He hasn’t escaped the legacy of violence.
His comms unit buzzes again. “Let’s move, bella. We’ve got shit to do.”